The Air I Breathe
by Belldandy07
Summary: Desmond/Shaun, mentioned Ezio/Leo. AU inspired by CSI. Tremendous heartache prevents Shaun from working for the TSI. Desmond has a way to soothe his pain, but they haven't been on the best of terms.


Fandom: Assassin's Creed Special Note: AU (Alternate Universe)  
>Pairing: DesmondShaun, Ezio/Leonardo Warning: The following text features male/male romance. It also features a great deal of fluff. If you're allergic to either or both concepts, please take your leave. I am not in command of your eyes.  
>Disclaimer: I'm not doing any of this for monetary profit. I don't own a bit of the AC fandom.<p>

Commentary: This was inspired by the original CSI: Crime Scene Investigation series. The Enders Codex was invented on the spur of a moment, from my fondness for historial treasures.

Find me in full swing on DeviantArt, under PeorthMoon.

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><p>He had never known such sorrow.<p>

With every breath he drew, he believed he'd explode. He thought he'd fall apart at the seams. He carried a world of sorrow, not only on his shoulders but on his heart as well. His sorrow, his grief and frustration cut him to the core, leaving very little room for life's light. In his eyes, there wasn't any light left. There was only darkness, thick and poisonous. There was only darkness, and it would consume everything in his path.

Never before had he felt so alone. Never before had he felt so small. The world was caving in on him, leaving him breathless. Squeezing the life from his lungs. He was on board the Investigation Unit, but could not properly concentrate on his work. Remnants of the past, and relics of the future received minimal attention. Yes, he was on the frontlines, but it was excruciatingly impossible to focus on anything. The Templar Surveillance Organization would just have to cope with half-hearted research.

Normally, he was on top of his game. He had made a name for himself, long ago, as one of the Organization's greatest workers. Not to mention his widespread skills as a historian. So many were well aware of the archivist that worked tirelessly to polish time's memories. Before the Organization recruited him, he once worked as a museum curator. The museum still held him as its most popular celebrity, because visitors still asked for him by name. They even requested tours! But as of late, he had been anything BUT a hard-worker. When the world needed him most, he could only focus on the turmoil raging within.

With a sigh, he slammed his palms onto his desk. Glancing at his laptop's monitor, he realized just how late it was. He felt as if he had gone for months without sleep, without food and without a single sliver of happiness. The late hours, and absence of nourishment, were quickly wearing his body down. Perhaps it was time to call it a night, but shutting his eyes would only result in nightmares. He had nothing to dream about, as of late. His eyes burned with the intent to shed tears, but allowing himself to shed even one would allow a tremendous downpour. A storm he would never recover from. So his body also had to endure the strain of suppressed weeping.

Yes, the world was in a horrible state. Ruling a grand empire, Cesare Borgia and his followers were intent on crushing humanity. At that very moment, they were gathering even more followers under their cause. Cities had been torn down, all in the name of the Borgia. Regal places were reduced to horrific ashes, people were reduced to ravenous wolves...and the world teetered on the brink of perpetual destruction. Along with so many others, Shaun Hastings of the Templar Surveillance Organization had to eliminate the world's devastating nightmares. But there was the issue of concentration. His eyes ached feverishly, and he was unbearably restless.

11:50. Ten minutes away from midnight. Desperately hoping his eyes would remain in their sockets, the TSI's tactician shut all of his books. It was time to pull the curtains down. Better to work with a greater level of concentration, instead of working without any strength at all.

"What'cha up to?"

Damn it. The very last voice he wanted to hear. It was none other than Desmond Miles, star player of the TSI. For some odd, cryptic reason, Lucy's darling poppet saw fit to check on him. Most likely on his progress. He had shared a few tolerable occasions with Desmond, but for the most part, Shaun wished he could claw the officer's eyes out. Especially considering how wonderful the rest of his life was. "I was conducting research on the Enders Codex," he explained, his voice coming out as an icy snap. If Desmond even thought of uttering a misplaced syllable, Lucy would just have to cope with a beheaded puppy.

"Trying to see if I could shed any more light on our little problem. As you know, Minerva warned us about the end of the world and all that. Her cohorts left clues to the world's salvation deep within the Codex, but I'm afraid they'll just have to wait."

Shaun shut the lid on his laptop, then rose from his seat. He turned to Desmond with a sweet smile, but he wasn't the least bit gleeful. "Well then," he said, after a heavy sigh. "I've got a question for you. How goes it, eh? Out there, on the field? Any teams left?"

It was late, and Desmond had spent long hours on the front lines. However, the star officer was seemingly calm-and willing to speak to Shaun on a civil level. The tactician thought he detected emotions within the other's eyes, but considering how well past conversations had gone, Shaun dismissed that thought in a heartbeat. "Our guys are doin' pretty well," the Miles explained, brown eyes glistening.

"Some of our teams were able to decimate Templar teams today. We took pretty heavy losses, which isn't too much of a surprise, but...we're making progress."

Shaun's eyes went from sweet to savage, burning a hole deep into the other's soul. "Hopefully enough progress," the historian said, then turned his back on Desmond. He began to pack up for the night, but then-

"It's...restrictive cardiomyopathy."

The historian was surprised he didn't collapse. Life's strain was becoming harder and harder to bear. He just wished his nightmare would end. "Dear God," he whispered, suddenly lighter than a feather. He landed a hand on his chair, to support himself. "That's supposed to be rare. This isn't supposed to be happening!"

Desmond wanted to reach out to him. He wanted to embrace him, but...he knew he couldn't. He just had to stay away. If he hadn't come bearing news, Shaun most likely would've killed him. "Leo was diagnosed with Churg-Strauss Syndrome, a few weeks ago," the star officer went on, softly and sadly. "We thought it had been taken care of, but...apparently, everything snowballed. Even when the guy's off duty, he works as if he's in some sort of slave camp. And...Ezio...I guess...made everything explode."

The new gutted him. Leonardo's collapse had already been horrible to deal with. But his diagnosis...! Life couldn't possibly get any darker. Shaun was such a strong friend of Leonardo's, the world believed they were soul mates. Destined to befriend each other, right from birth. Leonardo had been like a mother, father, sister and brother to him, all at once.

And now he was in Intensive Care, hanging on by a thread.

Desmond reconstructed one of his darkest memories. He and Leonardo were well on their way to delivering information to Ezio, head of the Forensics Unit. The blue-eyed miracle worker had been deathly tired as of late, but he passed it off as simple exhaustion. He ate very little, and merely passed off his lack of appetite as a wish to concentrate on his work. He couldn't stand any longer than twenty minutes without panting, but he was simply tired from working so much-and all for a job he passionately loved.

Alongside Desmond, he walked into Ezio's office-and promptly collapsed. The stress of seeing him with beautiful, young women was just too much to bear-especially right after Ezio's vows. The Auditore had vowed to love him and only him, forever and always. "Damn bastard," the Britishman snarled, bearing a mixture of weighty sorrow and immense fury. Shaun didn't know whether he wished to weep, scream or tear the eyes from Desmond's skull. He was lost, and Desmond could see that. Desmond knew it, and hated his inability to rid Shaun of his pain. "I'm sorry," the Miles said tenderly, bowing his head. "I'm so sorry. There's...there's a chance he...won't live through the night. Shaun, I'm sorry."

The Hastings bit his bottom lip. Before the historian burst into tears, Desmond went on. "I really am sorry," he repeated, sorrow echoing inside the office. And everything became clear. He was exhausted, physically and emotionally. He was tired, frustrated and sad.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry about your mom, too."

Who just passed from terminal cancer, two days ago.

Shutting his eyes, Shaun gripped the edge of his seat. It wouldn't be too much longer before he'd fall, and right on his knees. "I'm sorry," the Miles repeated firmly, lovingly. Plagued by a thousand tears. His yearning to embrace Shaun developed into a physical ache, leading to intense pain. With every breath he drew, he felt as if he were being stabbed a million times over.

"I'm sorry about the way I've been treating you, too. I...I know I've been a jerk. A huge jack ass. But here's the truth, Shaun. I...the thing is, I...we've been working together for two months now, and we've been through a lot. And the truth is...I love you."

"I love you."

Desmond went on, aware of delicate territory. He was walking on top of his thin ice, but he knew he had to continue. He had to offer Shaun everything he had, in his darkest hour. "The way I feel...it's insane and scary...and invigorating, all at once," he pressed on, picking up strength as he went on.

"As soon as I saw you, for the first time...I knew you'd remain an inextricable part of my life. I knew you would become the glue to hold me together, and the threads to unbind me. All at once. Every time you walked by, I forgot how to breathe-but I was reborn. Every time you were around, I forgot how to speak. Everything's been so messed up, so out of place...I still don't know how to handle myself around you. I forget anything and everything whenever you're around, because...you're all there is. I've always tried to think of the right words...the right way to tell you everything... but I just didn't know how. So I ended up sounding like an ass instead."

Silence. Shaun didn't even move.

"Sorry," the Miles said, amidst weak chuckles. "Guess I'm still not making any sense. I just wanna let you know that...I'm here."

He laid a hand against the historian's shoulder, and kept it there for a solid minute. He then walked away, out of Shaun's office and into the night. A certain trio of words echoed inside of a historian's heart, even after footsteps faded into the unseen moonlight. "Dithering bastard," a trembling heart whispered. He fell to his knees, clutching his chair-

Wishing Desmond had stayed behind.


End file.
